


Ghosts of the Past

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: Well I wanted this to be a stand alone but it's becoming longer than I thought, so I am thinking this will only be a few chapters.
I put teen and up rating because of the content of the murders.
++++





	1. Chapter 1

_Early evening - Captain Treville's office_

"She makes the fourth victim within a month," Athos exchanged grave looks with all his brothers, knowing that this state of affairs could not continue. It was getting so that not a woman in Paris wanted to be seen on the streets or anywhere for that matter.

"Always a prostitute," Aramis gazed ruefully at the captain. "At least the person behind these murders is consistent."

"This one's name was Clarisse," Treville said softly. "May our good Lord watch over her soul." As he was speaking Treville noted d'Artagnan setting himself apart from the rest, almost tucked away in the corner of his office appearing decidedly pale. "Is d'Artagnan not feeling well?"

"E's been gettin' like that everytime we find one of the dead women," Porthos had already discussed this with his brothers as they too were puzzled over the whelp's reaction of late.

"Tis not like the lad's not seen a dead body before," Treville kept his eyes on d'Artagnan's slim form. It almost seemed to him that the younger man was trying to melt into the woodwork.

"Perhaps tis because so far they've been women and found in a most gruesome way," Athos offered as he had become overly worried about his protégé.

"It ain't a pleasant experience ta see someone danglin' in the air from a hangin'," Porthos glanced over his shoulder again finding the whelp had left the office. "Aramis," he hissed, jerking his head in the general direction of the door.

Understanding the silent message that passed between them, Aramis went in search of their pup.

++++

_Outside Treville's office_

"D'Artagnan," Aramis quietly walked over to where the lad was bent over the railing. Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder he leaned over to peer into the white face of his brother. "Are you feeling ill?"

Turning around to face Aramis, d'Artagnan took in a deep breath. "Honestly," he folded his arms, leaning back against the railing, "I'm not sure myself." Staring at a point over Aramis' shoulder, he continued. "When we come upon one of the bodies I get a pain in my head that hurts so bad it feels as if it were about to explode," d'Artagnan freely admitted. "And then I get a flash of what must be a memory of some type," he snapped his fingers, "but tis gone as quickly as it comes."

More than rattled upon hearing this, Aramis took d'Artagnan by the shoulders and stared into the boy's eyes. "Perhaps it reminds you of something similar that occurred back in Gascony."

"Oh, Aramis," d'Artagnan pulled away from the firm hold his brother had on him, "we never had anything like that happen in our village," rubbing at his aching head, he began to feel slightly dizzy.

"Twas only a thought, mon ami." Placing a companionable arm around the young Gascon's shoulder, Aramis guided them both back inside the captain's office.

++++

_Inside Treville's office again_

Not bothering to take Aramis and d'Artagnan to task over leaving before they were dismissed, Treville noted the lad appeared slightly unsteady on his feet.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, kid!" Porthos caught the whelp as he swayed toward him before he pitched forward. Holding tightly to his young charge, Porthos gazed helplessly at Treville.

"See d'Artagnan gets back home, Porthos," Treville's eyes narrowed on their youngest for a full minute as something began niggling away in the back of his mind.

"Apologies, sir," d'Artagnan mumbled, stumbling after Porthos as his larger brother tried to keep him on his feet.

"Just get some rest, son," Treville waved a hand at them. "Aramis and Athos will later apprise you both on what you've missed."

After the door closed, Athos noted an odd look cross over Treville's face. "Captain?" he arched a questioning brow.

Sitting back in his chair Treville simply stared into space, lost in thought, thinking years and years back of a horrible tragedy that took place in Gascony.

"Sir," Aramis drew concerned, as did Athos, at the silence of their captain.

"I can't believe these incidents are related but it could explain away why d'Artagnan's been reacting the way he has at the sight of these murders." Leaning forward, Treville rested his elbows on the desk. "When d'Artagnan was only eight years of age he had been playing in the fields when he came upon a grisly sight."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Athos swore softly. "Merde!" he began to feel ill himself now. "You're insinuating that d'Artagnan came upon a similar hanging?"

"Oui," Treville replied. "Her name was Adeline and she was found strung up from an old oak tree.

"Mon Dieu!" cried out both Aramis and Athos, deeply shocked to know that this had happened to their young one when d'Artagnan had only been a petit garcon.

"If you would ask d'Artagnan of this today the lad would have no knowledge of the occurrence," Treville drummed his fingers on top of the desk.

"He shoved it to the back of his mind as if it never happened," Athos murmured. "At such a tender age seeing something as traumatic as that had to have been terrorizing for him." As these events have been plaguing Athos as well with thoughts of ordering his own wife to be hung.

"Quite so," Treville readily agreed. "There were no leads in the case," he spread his hands out. "Not a soul came forward with any information."

"Is it believed that d'Artagnan may have seen the killer?" Aramis crossed his arms, rocking on the back of his heels.

"No one was certain," Treville ran a hand down the back of his head. "I only know of this because Alexandre had written to me about it. We kept up a correspondence with one another as much as circumstances allowed."

"Either d'Artagnan never saw the killer," Athos offered, "or the murderer found out the poor child had pushed everything out of his mind." He knew it was senseless, but Athos bitterly wished he had been there to lend comfort to the petit garcon d'Artagnan had been . "Thus thinking himself safe to continue living among his fellow Gascons as if nothing had ever happened."

"Tis what Alexandre always believed as well," Treville sighed, closing his eyes briefly thinking about his old friend who now was gone.

"So these murders are reviving d'Artagnan's memory of that dark day?" Aramis' gaze bounced between that of his captain and Athos who appeared to be on the same page.

"I'm beginning to feel that is so," Treville gravely acknowledged.

"Was the deceased woman by any chance a prostitute?" Aramis asked, keen to know the answer.

"She had been married to a local Gascon merchant who traveled a great deal of the time for his business," Treville tried to remember more of what Alexandre had told him. "It wasn't a well kept secret and most of the village knew that Adeline had grown lonely during those times her husband was away."

"She would then seek her pleasure with other men," Athos added. It was an old story and one that continued to this day.

"But that didn't make her one of the ladies of the night," Aramis remarked curiously. "One who plied her trade from man to man."

"I've just had a terrible thought," Treville rubbed at his forehead. "If our killer is the same person who committed that murder in Gascony..."

"Tis a bit of a stretch," Aramis muttered but neither his captain or Athos paid him the slightest attention.

"And if d'Artagnan is getting his memory back of that day he may be able to identify the murderer," Athos grimaced, "that is if the lad truly saw anyone."

"Our pup's eighteen," Aramis pointed out. "I doubt our killer would even recognize him now as the eight year old d'Artagnan was back then."

"It could have been someone that knew the d'Artagnan family well," Treville shrugged. "If that is so then our murderer may well see a resemblance if he comes upon him." Pushing back his chair, Treville stood up. "In the meantime i want all three of you to keep an eye on the lad."

"As ever," Athos dipped his head and together with Aramis left the premises.

++++

_Next day, early afternoon - patrolling the streets of Paris_

Walking beside Athos, d'Artagnan's eyes were all over the place. "You do know this search is a needle in a haystack."

"Of course we don't expect to discover our killer during the daylight hours," Athos' gaze caught the eyeroll the Gascon made. "We are on the lookout for any newcomers to our city."

"And so the _haystack_ grows ever larger," d'Artagnan snorted.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, d'Artagnan," Athos ordered. "You never know when an unlikely source may drop into your lap."

" _Haystack_ ," d'Artagnan whispered under his breath but he knew Athos had heard him when he felt a light cuff to the back of his neck.

Walking past the many taverns, that littered the city, it was from one of those that a Gascon stranger came out. Though d'Artagnan did not see him, he would never have recognized the person anyway as many years had stretched between them since last they met.

But as to the stranger, he couldn't help but notice them as one wore the uniform of a Musketeer. As to the younger man, that was with the soldier, that puzzled him to a certain degree. There was something about the lad. Something familiar. Something... something... and then it finally came to him. It was because he was a Gascon and not just any Gascon but one he used to know very well. This could become a problem. For now though he had other fish to fry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much for this story ending with only a couple of chapters. LOL! The story continues...
> 
> See notes below.
> 
> ++++

_Early evening that same day - Porthos' apartments_

A knock on his door had Porthos throwing down his cards on the table and wagging a warning finger in d'Artagnan's face. "No cheatin' while I see who it is?"

Looking over at the twin, amused expressions belonging to Aramis and Athos, d'Artagnan pulled a sour face and leaned back in his chair. "I would too if I knew I could get away with it."

Glancing at their own cards that had been dealt to them the two older Musketeers both arched eyebrows at the same time, snickering quietly. It was well known, by most of the regiment, that d'Artagnan lost more than he won whenever Porthos was involved in any card game.

All of them placed their cards down upon seeing the grim features of Porthos, as the larger man approached them.

"Porthos?" Athos questioned, waiting for his brother to speak. Though gut instinct told him it wouldn't be welcome news.

"There's another one," Porthos spoke gruffly, afraid to even look at the whelp. Athos had explained to him what Captain Treville told his brothers when Porthos had taken a shaken d'Artagnan home.

"Where?" snapped Aramis who gripped the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

"On Rue du Poil-au-con," Porthos went to get his blue cloak for the nights were becoming cooler, "in the alley."

"How do you hang someone in an alley?" d'Artagnan naively asked.

"The old adage... _if there's a will there's a way_ comes to mind." Athos too went to retrieve his own cloak with Aramis following suit, while d'Artagnan grabbed his tan, leather one.

++++

_Rue du Poil-au-con_

Gazing upon the pale corpse of what once had been another prostitute, d'Artagnan's head began to ache pounding at him mercilessly. The woman's body was hanging from an open window of the brothel where she no doubt worked.

"Could have been one of her marks went berserk and murdered her," Aramis offered, staring at the twisted bed sheets wrapped tightly about their poor victim's neck.

"D'Artagnan, go inside and speak to the proprietor," Athos ordered his protégé. "Make him take you to the room and tell us what you find." Getting no response at first, Athos worried about the pup. The child's face was nearly as white as the deceased woman's. "D'Artagnan," he repeated, relieved when the young Gascon took off.

"Should I go with im'?" Porthos watched as the whelp disappeared around the corner of the building.

"Non," Athos was about to say something further but then d'Artagnan's head popped out of the window above.

"Bed's been pushed near the window with one end of the bed sheets tied securely to the bedpost!" he hollered down to them.

Aramis was getting sick and tired of seeing this same scenario played out over and over again. Noting the unfortunate soul's body swaying back and forth, he couldn't take it any longer. "D'Artagnan!," he yelled up at the lad, "lower her down!"

Once the Gascon did as told Aramis murmured some prayers over her, finishing with the sign of the cross over the body.

As the inseparables discussed matters between themselves, Athos kept gazing up at the window. "What's keeping that boy?" Growing concerned, when over ten minutes had lapsed and there was still no sign of the lad, Athos growled, "Let us see what is keeping our youngest."

++++

_Inside the brothel_

Conversing with the proprietor, before heading up the staircase, the inseparables discovered that the deceased was known as Viviette. Upon entering the room where she stayed, they noted d'Artagnan huddled in a corner. Their pup's hands were on top of his head and he was rocking back and forth speaking to himself, rambling - _non_ repeatedly.

Getting down on his haunches beside the boy, Aramis gently eased the child's hands away from his head. Placing each of his own on either side of d'Artagnan's face, Aramis stared into the lad's frightened and confused eyes. Speaking in soft tones Aramis asked, "What do you see?"

Glassy brown eyes tried to look away from his friend but d'Artagnan couldn't shake off the firm grip Aramis had on him. The only thing he succeeded in doing was to bang his head against the wall, wincing with pain.

"Whatever it is ya tryin' ta do, Mis," Porthos quietly snapped, "ain't workin'. Kid seems worse off."

Releasing the boy Aramis stood up turning around to glower at his larger friend. "I doubt you can do any better," he snorted.

Pushing past the annoyed sharpshooter, Athos sat down on the cold floor beside d'Artagnan. Shoulder to shoulder he stayed there until Athos felt the fine tremors, wracking his protégé's slim frame, die down. "Can you tell me what you see?" Holding his breath, Athos waited to hear what the young Gascon would admit. After about a full minute had gone by his patience was rewarded when, with a hitched breath, d'Artagnan began to speak.

"Tis not quite late," d'Artagnan's hands wrapped around his knees, "for I haven't been called in for dinner," head bent his hair fell forward hiding part of his face. "I was playing," he placed his forehead on his knees, not looking at any of his brothers. "I came upon a woman... I knew her..." his voice faded away.

"Who was it, d'Artagnan?" Athos' calm, even voice kept drawing their young one out. He hated doing this but needs must. Not only for their investigation but for the welfare of the lad's sanity.

"Madame Deschamps," now d'Artagnan's shoulders began to shake. It wasn't until Athos' placed a hand on the back of his neck that he began to feel safe in his own skin.

"She was a friend of yours then?" Aramis cautiously joined in, not wanting to be the cause of further upset for the boy.

"A neighbor," d'Artagnan slowly raised his head back up. "I used to play with her son Alfonso."

"Bet ya two kids got inta a bunch of trouble together," Porthos tried to add some much needed normalcy to the tense atmosphere. "Were ya the same ages?"

"He was seven years older than myself," d'Artagnan leaned his head back gingerly against the solid wall, as it was still sore. "Alfonso used to get stuck watching over me when papa was busy with the farm and it was something I couldn't help with. Eventually it grew into a comfortable friendship despite our age difference."

"What was Madame's first name?" Athos feared he already had the answer.

" _Adeline_ ," d'Artagnan whispered in such a low voice that Athos had to lean in to hear him better.

All the inseparables exchanged the same look of sadness, knowing this was the woman's name spoken by Captain Treville earlier. Though the officer left out the part about her being one of d'Artagnan's neighbors.

Patting d'Artagnan's shoulder gently Athos got back up, adjusting his doublet. Patiently he then waited until the Gascon took his outstretched hand. After pulling the pup back to his feet, Athos had Aramis secure a wagon for the deceased to be taken to the morgue.

++++

_Later in Captain Treville's office_

Athos was alone with the captain for over an hour while he divulged tonight's activities.

Sitting at his desk, Treville was nearly lost for words listening to this horror story. "Ghastly! Simply ghastly, Athos!" reaching into his desk drawer he pulled out a flask of whiskey. Taking a hearty swig of it he handed it off to his lieutenant. "This can't be any easier on you either, son."

"I worry for d'Artagnan if tis what you mean," Athos then flung back the whiskey and felt the burn of it as it traveled down his throat.

Taking the flask back, Treville took another swig before capping it and placing it back where it belonged. "I refer not to d'Artagnan but to your own past." Knowing that he and the younger officer had never spoken further upon that subject, once Treville admitted Athos into the ranks of his Musketeers, it hadn't stopped him of thinking upon it from time to time.

Grimacing, Athos said, "I will admit that these deaths have brought up uncomfortable memories for myself but I can handle them."

"And d'Artagnan?" Treville grunted. "Do you think he can handle them?"

"We'll all be there for the lad," Athos announced with firm resolve.

"Merde!" Treville slammed his hand down hard upon his desk. "Our killer keeps getting bolder with each atrocity he commits. Venturing further into our city now."

"Oui," Athos nodded, surprised at seeing his unflappable captain nearly beside himself with fury. "The murders were usually just outside the city limits before. Close enough for everyone to notice and become afraid."

"Keep up with your patrols," Treville stood up to walk around his desk. "I've spared as many men as I dared," he shared an ironic look with his lieutenant. "His Majesty's been apprised on what we've been dealing with but still insists upon going on one of his damn hunts!"

"I am pleased to have something better to do than that, sir," Athos offered him a grim smile.

"Carry on then," Treville dismissed him. When the door closed after his lieutenant's departure, Treville stared into space with d'Artagnan upper most in his thoughts. "We'll take care of the lad for you, Alexandre," he whispered out loud into his empty office.

++++

_Next day, on patrol in the city once again_

"D'Artagnan!" a voice cried out.

Recognizing the twang of a fellow Gascon, d'Artagnan immediately swung around at the call. As the stranger made his approach, he didn't at first recognize him. But the closer the man came, d'Artagnan had a feeling of great familiarity.

"Adiu mon pichot, d'Artangan!" the stranger exclaimed with joy quite evident in his voice. Adding to his greeting a hearty slap to the boy's back, he saw curious eyes staring back at him and knew d'Artagnan didn't realize who he was. "Ah!" he laughed pleasantly, "how they soon forget." He glanced over at the huge, dark-skinned Musketeer standing quietly amused by the lad's side. "Tis I... Alfonso!"

" _Alfonso_!" d'Artagnan shouted out in shock, finding himself suddenly engulfed in the warmest of hugs.

"Que ha temps que n's'em pas vist," Alfonso chuckled, eyeing d'Artagnan up and down seeing the changes the years had wrought on his old childhood pal. It appeared to him that the boy fared well.

"Com vas?" d'Artagnan asked Alfonso, catching sight of Porthos' leaning against a building listening but not understanding a word that was spoken. In his excitement d'Artagnan had completely forgotten that his brother didn't know the Gascon dialect. "Before you answer that," he jerked his head toward where Porthos was, "mon frere doesn't speak Gascon."

Turning to face the Musketeer, Alfonso apologized. "Escusats-me, Monsieur," he grinned. "Com t'aperas?" Then he slapped himself on the forehead. "Apologies again," he shrugged. "It's been a long while since I haven't had to speak my native tongue and meeting a fellow Gascon I forgot all propriety."

Grinning, holding out his hand, Porthos nodded. "Forgiven."

“Porthos,” d’Artagnan shared a smile between the men, “this is Alfonso Deschamps.” Looking to Alfonso he added, “And this, mon ami, is Porthos.”

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur,” Alfonso had never met anyone before that matched this Musketeer in sheer size.

Pulling the whelp off to the side for a second or two, Porthos whispered into the boy’s ear. “ _Deschamps_?” That any relation ta your former neighbor we was talkin’ about last night?”

“She was Alfonso’s maman,” d’Artagnan’s eyes slid away from his friend only to be held and caught by the other Gascon who was probably wondering if they were discussing him.

Stepping back over to Alfonso, d’Artagnan made his excuses. “Apologies,” he dipped his head. “Musketeer business." Noting Alfonso's eyes resting upon his shoulder, d’Artagnan laughed. “Non, not yet. I’m only a recruit.”

“Don’t let the whelp fool ya,” Porthos broke in. “Kid’ll be one of us right soon enough.”

“Aren’t you rather young to become one, d’Artagnan?” Alfonso knew the boy couldn’t be older than eighteen, compared to his own twenty five years.

“Captain Treville thinks I have great potential,” d’Artagnan lightly boasted, afraid if he would say anything more it could backfire on him.

“Kid ‘ere will be the youngest King Louis ever 'ad serve,” Porthos added proudly with a broad grin spreading across his dark-skinned complexion.

“I’m glad to see you took those lessons to heart your pere had been teaching you since you were only a petit garcon, d’Artagnan,” Alfonso glimpsed, for but a moment, a look of sadness and loss in the youngster's eyes. “Has he been well?”

“Papa was murdered while we were en route to Paris,” d’Artagnan could tell his words came as a complete surprise to Alfonso, judging by the other man’s reaction.

“You have my heartfelt sympathies, mon ami,” Alfonso clasped the lad’s shoulder, gripping it tightly for he had truly liked Alexandre d’Artagnan. “I haven’t been back to Lupiac in many a year or I’m sure word would have reached me.”

“I’ve been dealing with it,” d’Artagnan admitted with a look up at Porthos, “with the help of my new friends and brothers.”

“Are ya stayin’ long in Paris?” Porthos had a funny feeling he couldn’t shake. What were the odds that Alfonso turns up just when these mysterious murders were in full swing? Considering the deaths were nearly the same as Alfonso's mother, Porthos’ sixth sense for trouble was beginning to scream at him. Knowing he couldn’t voice his worry to d’Artagnan, he acted like nothing was wrong.

“Paris holds many opportunities but,” Alfonso threw his arms out wide, “traveling’s in my blood and I find it hard to settle down in one place.”

“I guess that means you’re just passing through,” d’Artagnan remarked sadly, wishing his old friend would have been staying longer so they could catch up.

“Oh I don’t plan on leaving just yet,” Alfonso noticed d’Artagnan perk up at the news. "I’ve been here about a month so Paris hasn’t lost its luster for me quite yet.”

On hearing how long Alfonso had been in the area, it really rattled Porthos. He couldn’t wait to meet up with Athos and Aramis later to discuss this with them.

“So where have you been staying this entire time?” d’Artagnan pressed, more than curious that he hadn’t met up with Alfonso before this if the man’s been here that long. Though he could hear Aramis in his head saying _Paris is a big city and it was to be expected_.

“I’ve been letting out a room above Le Petit Renard,” Alfonso pointed down the street.

“Workin?” Porthos asked. Unless Alfonso was independently wealthy, the man would have to be earning his wage somewhere.

“A little bit of this and that wherever I can be of use,” Alfonso shrugged casually. “I lived on a farm most of my life just like d’Artagnan here and so have a variety of skills.” Alfonso tilted his head to the side, studying the boy closely. “You and I need to get together soon.”

“I have no missions coming up that I am aware of,” d’Artagnan replied eagerly. “Perhaps tonight?”

“Oh I'm going to be busy later," Alfonso placed a hand on the boy's arm. "What about tomorrow for dinner?"

"I don't see why not," d'Artagnan would be looking forward to it. "How about we meet over at The Wren? Food's not bad and the company's good too."

"Kid's prejudice on that point," Porthos added with a wink. "It's where most of the Musketeers hang out."

"Sounds like a plan," Alfonso glanced at Porthos. "It was a pleasure to meet you," they shook hands. "Perhaps we'll see each other again."

"Ya never know where I'll turn up," Porthos chuckled. "Now me and the whelp 'ere gotta get back ta patrollin' again or else our captain may end up givin' us stable duty for the rest of the week."

"Can't have that now can we?" Alfonso waved goodbye to the two men. "Au revoir," he watched them walk down the street side by side. "Oui," he murmured softly to himself, "I'll be busy tonight."

++++

_Notes:_

Rue du Poil-au-con - is one of many streets (at least it was in 1270 so I used it) associated with prostitution. Its name means - hair of the con (from the latin cunnus, meaning female genitalia a/k/a Street of the pubic hair).

Le Petit Renard - The Little Fox

Gascon language translations:  
Adiu mon pichot - hello my petit  
Que ha temps que n's'em pas vist - long time no see  
Com vas - how are you?  
Escusats-me - excuse me  
Com t'aperas - what's your name?

 


	3. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. Hope you enjoyed this.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, early evening – Aramis’ apartments_

“So you’re suspicious of d’Artagnan’s Gascon friend, eh?” Aramis observed Porthos’ steely-eyed expression with amusement. “Was it something I said, mon ami?”

“I hate this!” Porthos grabbed a chair and threw himself on it. “Alfonso’s d’Art’s friend,” he looked over at Athos who, up until now, had been silent as a proverbial clam. “I don’t like thinkin’ that ‘e’s our killer.”

“Timings about right,” Athos finally added his opinion, “for when our killings began to occur.”

“Where did you say he was staying again?” Aramis tilted his head to the side, contemplating where this conversation was heading.

“Le Petit Renard,” Porthos crossed his arms, looking back and forth between his brothers. He was pretty sure what Athos was going to say so he beat him to it. “Ya want us ta take turns followin’ Alfonso?”

“I believe that should be our next step,” Athos drawled. “By the way,” he stared at Porthos quizzically since he had been with the lad last, “where is our pup?”

“Actually,” Aramis served his friends from his best, and only, bottle of brandy, “I discovered that our young one had to pull double duty and go back on patrol with Osmont.”

“Kid and I been patrolin’ a good portion of the day,” Porthos remarked a bit irritated with Captain Treville for doing this to his younger brother after they had put in hours on the street together. “Whelp shouldn’t ‘ave ta be back at it agin.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Athos frowned, displeased upon not being informed about it. “There are other Musketeers and recruits available to put on patrols.”

“Oui,” Aramis had been surprised as well when he had found out. “Perhaps our captain thinks d’Artagnan would be a good influence on Osmont.”

A loud sound, halfway between a snort and a laugh, escaped Porthos just then. “Sometimes I wonder what’s between Osmont’s ears,” his eyes slid toward Athos, “because it sure ain’t brains.”

Sighing, Athos tapped a finger on his untouched drink. “It should have been a senior Musketeer assigned to Osmont as he’s also a recruit not d’Artagnan.”

“To late to do anything about it now, mes freres,” Aramis worried too but hid his anxiety from his brothers, especially Athos.

“It would be their luck ta find trouble tonight,” Porthos grunted, not at all happy about the situation either.

“I’m not so much worried how d’Artagnan would fare,” Athos stared into the amber liquid while swirling it around, “tis how Osmont would react if they manage to encounter anything.”

“Let’s trust that d’Artagnan can keep a level head if the worst were to take place,” Aramis finished his brandy and then produced a deck of cards. Shuffling them he started dealing them out. “This time I mean to win,” he glared at Porthos, the latter simply chuckled.

++++

_On patrol, just past The Lost Key Tavern_

It had been an unusually quiet evening for them so when the other shoe dropped d’Artagnan wasn’t the least surprised. Out of the dark a man came racing towards them, as if he were being chased by someone. Prepared, d’Artagnan and Osmont both sidestepped out of the way easily, lest they be knocked over into the mud from the heavy rains they had overnight.

Pierre was white as a sheet, out of breath and clearly terrified. So upset was he that he nearly barreled into the other two men. It was the younger one that had reached out to snag his arm as he ran past, stopping his momentum.

“What are you running away from?” d’Artagnan saw the sweat pouring down the stranger’s face. “Is someone after you?”

“Body…dead body,” Pierre pointed a shaking finger toward the way he had just come from. “There’s a… there’s a dead woman,” he stammered, his whole body quaking from shudders wracking his thick-set frame. If one were to come upon him in this condition, they wouldn’t be wrong to think him ill.

"Where?" Osmont snapped out sharply, aware this could probably involve the series of murders that have been plaguing Paris lately.

"Three blocks down where Guiot's blacksmithy is," Pierre wanted to get home and forget what he saw. "She's just hanging there."

Placing a calming hand on the other man's arm d'Artagnan said, "Go on home we'll take it from here." Sharing a concerned look with Osmont both of them headed for the blacksmiths.

++++

_Guiot's Blacksmith Shop_

Not quite done displaying his latest piece of work, Alfonso had to momentarily hide when a stranger had stumbled upon the scene. After the terrified man had left, he continued staging the body.

Almost done, Alfonso heard sounds of people approaching again. Once more he hid himself away, watching and waiting.

"Mon Dieu!" Osmont's mouth fell open in shock and he began to feel sick inside. "This is monstrous!"

Nearly as pale as the woman's corpse dangling from the highest rafter, d'Artagnan took unsteady footsteps toward where she hung like a lifeless doll. Falling to his knees he stared up at her in a daze. Clutching his head he began to moan softly.

Behind him, Osmont stared incredulously at the young Gascon wondering what in the world was wrong with the boy.

Memories flooded d'Artagnan's mind. Ghosts of the past came back to haunt and taunt him. He became that scared petit eight year old garcon all over again. But it wasn't simply seeing poor Madame Deschamps body swinging from the tree that had caused d'Artagnan to shove everything to the back of his mind, throw away the key and lock it away forever. It was who he had seen running away from the scene. " _Alfonso_ ," he murmured out loud.

"D'Artagnan," Osmont called out softly for fear of startling the Gascon. Not sure if the lad needed aid, he cautiously stepped forward. It was then he was clobbered on the back of his head, from behind, and sent into oblivion. Collapsing to the ground, Osmont knew no more.

Lost in his memories, d'Artagnan didn't see what had befallen his comrade. Hearing someone's approach he thought it was Osmont and so didn't pay attention to what was going to turn out to be a major threat to his life.

"Ah, mon pichot," Alfonso said tenderly, standing over d'Artagnan. "I had hoped you would never remember what happened that day."

Blinking rapidly, coming out of the fog, d'Artagnan stared up into the bleak look in Alfonso's dark eyes. "Why did you kill her?"

"Maman was nothing more than one of those harlots that work the brothels of Paris," he laughed harshly. "Free with her body to whatever man could warm her bed while waiting for papa to come home,” he knelt down beside the youngster. "You see, pichot," Alfonso grimly smiled, "I'm saving these women from debasing themselves as my maman had."

"The only thing I see are women being murdered by your hand," d'Artagnan spat. His eyes roamed the blacksmith’s shop trying to find out where Osmont had gotten off to. It was then he spied the other recruit laying senseless on the ground. Which meant that there wouldn't be help from that quarter anytime soon by the looks of the man. D’Artagnan could only pray that Alfonso hadn’t killed him.

"See it however you will," Alfonso stood up, taking d'Artagnan with him. "Unfortunately I can't afford to keep you alive now that your memories have returned."

"If you murder me you'll have every Musketeer after you," d'Artagnan warned. "They won't rest until you're apprehended or killed." Thinking upon the inseparables, he was more concerned on how his death would tear them up inside. Especially as he and Athos were beginning to form a strong bond, one d'Artagnan thought that nearly equaled what he had shared with his own papa.

"I've been lucky so far," Alfonso slowly smiled. "But as for you, pichot... your luck is about to run out." With a powerful right hook to d'Artagnan's unprotected face, Alfonso laid the boy flat out.

Bending he picked the young Gascon up, threw him over his shoulder and carried him close to where the unfortunate prostitute limply hung. Placing d'Artagnan face down on the ground Alfonso then tied the lad's hands together behind the boy's back. Then he flipped d'Artagnan over.

Gathering more rope into his hands, Alfonso threw one end up and over the rafters until it came down on the other side. Securing it to a post Alfonso fashioned another noose to the other end. Pulling it down he managed to get d'Artagnan's head through the opening. Standing back he untied the end of the rope he had initially secured to the post and began hoisting d'Artagnan's lax body up in the air. "Adieu, pichot," Alfonso whispered sadly. "I wish there could have been another way."

It was only when d'Artagnan's body was on level with the deceased woman's did Alfonso secure the rope back to the post again. He watched the boy rouse from unconsciousness, legs kicking out while d'Artagnan struggled for every breath he could get while the noose tightened about the Gascon's neck.

Deeply regretful that Alfonso had to end their friendship in such a manner, he turned his back on the dying youngster. The other man, who had been with d'Artagnan, was of no concern to him as he was still unconscious and so hadn’t heard anything that could incriminate Alfonso. About to leave the building he came to an abrupt halt when, out of nowhere, a voice roared out its fury startling him badly.

" _PORTHOS, GET HIM DOWN FROM THERE NOW!_ " Athos commanded. He reeled from coming upon his protégé hanging from the rafters. It brought back that horrific time when he had ordered his wife's death. Praying that they had arrived in time, he observed Porthos trying to save their pup.

Immediately Porthos rushed over to where the whelp was choking to death. Grabbing his legs he took most of the boy's weight to alleviate the strain on d'Artagnan's neck. While he did that Aramis took out a poignard from his weapon's belt and cut through the thick rope until d'Artagnan all but fell into Porthos' arms. Gently placing their young one on the ground Porthos stood aside for Aramis to take over.

Unbuttoning d'Artagnan's doublet, Aramis unlaced the lad's shirt giving the Gascon more breathing room. Seeing the ugly rope burn on the child's neck, Aramis threw a murderous look toward Alfonso who was cornered against the wall by Athos' blade at his throat.

"Will he live?" Athos yelled over his shoulder, never once taking his eyes off his prey.

"Our Gascon's alive," Aramis called back. "But I'd feel better getting him to the infirmary as soon as possible to treat the rope burns around his neck."

"I just need one reason to end your existence!" Athos growled, turning his fury again toward Alfonso. "Give it to me and your death will be quick!"

"I fear I love life to well to do as you ask," Alfonso replied, his eyes flicking over to where the other two Musketeers were hovering over d'Artagnan's still figure.

"Your so called _life_ will end in the Chatelet and then at the end of a noose like all of your victims," Athos took the pommel of his sword and clouted Alfonso on the side of his head, rendering him unconscious.

Walking over to where d'Artagnan was now resting against Porthos' chest Athos knelt down beside them. Placing his hand on the side of the boy's face Athos patted it gently. When the child's eyes focused on him he held up one hand, wriggling his fingers. "How many, d'Artagnan? You know the drill."

Squinting at the digits, d'Artagnan shook his head to clear it. "Ummmm, eight," his throat felt like it was on fire and when he heard his voice d'Artagnan winced. He sounded more like a croaking frog. "Could be seven?" he gazed hopefully at his mentor who sadly shook his head back at him.

Glancing up at Aramis in concern, Athos tilted his head asking a silent question of his brother.

"If you're worried that oxygen was cut off to the boy's brain," Aramis ran his fingers through d'Artagnan's hair, "I believe we got to him before that could happen," his other hand gently touched the bruised flesh of the young Gascon's face. "Am I right in assuming Alfonso knocked you out, d'Artagnan?"

"Oui," d'Artagnan grimaced when he tried to swallow. "Next thing I knew I woke up choking."

"There's you're answer, Athos," Aramis frowned seeing d'Artagnan dealing with the pain. "I'm sure once his head clears his vision will return to normal."

"Lucky thing Athos decided that cards for us weren't on the table tonight and ta go afta the whelp instead," Porthos shuddered thinking what would have happened if they had been too late.

Throat raw, d'Artagnan tried to speak again. "It was Alfonso... the.. entire time."

"No more talking," Aramis admonished with a finger tapping at the lad's lips. "When we get you back to the infirmary I'll mix some honey and lemon together for you to drink that will sooth the soreness."

"I remembered... everything," d'Artagnan whispered, hearing Aramis sigh in frustration because d'Artagnan wasn't heeding his advice. "Thought... thought he was my friend."

"What Adeline did all those years ago," Athos began, "warped Alfonso's mind in some way."

"Said," d'Artagnan swallowed again, despite the agony it caused, "said he was saving... saving the prosti... prostitutes from using... their bodies like her."

So concerned were the inseparables over their pup that Osmont was all but forgotten in the heat of the moment. When they heard the other recruit moaning they all turned and watched Osmont sit up, propping himself against some wooden beams.

"What... ow!" Osmont touched the back of his head, his fingers coming away with blood on them. Glancing over at where everyone was huddled around d'Artagnan, Osmont was strangely silent.

"Aramis, take a look at Osmont," Athos ordered, "but make it quick. I want to get d'Artagnan back to the Garrison just as soon as you do."

"I got one question for ya, whelp?" Porthos eyes drifted over to where Osmont rested. "What made Captin' Treville put you on assignment with 'im?"

"He's supposed to rest his voice," Athos snapped in irritation. Whatever Treville's reasons, they could find out later.

"S'okay," d'Artagnan croaked out. "Matthieu was supposed to... to have gone... with Osmont. Last minute he got... got hurt."

"So you were the obvious choice?" Athos raised a brow in disbelief. "Not that you aren't good at your job but sending two recruits out alone with what had been going on recently just doesn't make any sense."

"I was nearby when... Osmont and... Matthieu were walking past," d'Artagnan began to cough roughly. Seeing Athos about to tell him to shut up, he hurriedly finished. "Matthieu tripped and injured... his ankle," he paused to duck his head away from his mentor's sharp gaze. Feeling a gloved hand grab his chin gently to turn it back toward Athos' unhappy face, d'Artagnan swallowed hard.

"You volunteered to take Matthieu's place," Athos finished for the lad. "Treville's not going to be happy over this."

"Still," Porthos broke in, "captin's gotta be pleased we got our killer."

"Mmmmm," Athos hummed. "There is that." When d'Artagnan listed sideways and all but fell on Athos' chest, the older man smiled over the pup's head seeing Porthos grin at the boy's actions. "Porthos, do us the honor of carrying our Gascon back to the Garrison," Athos got to his feet, looking over at Aramis and Osmont. "Ready?"

With a last look at the recruit, Aramis nodded. "Osmont is able to walk on his own."

"Good," Athos glanced back at his protégé cradled tenderly in their friendly giant's arms. "Before we leave, Aramis, get that poor soul's body down from there. When we get back to the Garrison I'll send some men back here with a wagon for her."

Observing how his brother took the greatest of care lowering the prostitute from the rafter, Athos' lips tightened upon looking at what once was a lovely creature. That could have been d'Artagnan. By the grace of God it didn't happen. With distaste he noted Alfonso beginning to stir. "Aramis, make sure Alfonso's secured and bring him along. I fear if I were to do it he wouldn't make it back to Treville alive."

Tipping his chapeau at his friend, Aramis did as ordered.

"Do you think the captain... will be... mad at me?" d'Artagnan's voice was hardly recognizable now, noting Athos pull a face at the sound.

"I believe you've been punished enough, child," Athos rested a hand on top of the youngster's head, exchanging a small smile with Porthos as he did. Brushing d'Artagnan's bangs out of the pup's eyes Athos said, "Let's go home."

The End


End file.
